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hatsbuckets · 22 days ago

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Good evening fine people of the blr. Never have I had a single omegaverse thought about the 141 once in my life. (In the 5ish months I've been knowing about them.) Or omegaverse period??? Not once outside of just like reading other people's posts. And now I have… and I kinda wanna post, but I don'---

Omega!Price never having nested before.

This man. This emotionally constipated, duty first, mother fucking man. Has never built a nest. Not once as an adult.

He absolutely repressed his instincts. Not because Omegas are seen as lesser—they’re not. Omegas are important, valuable, powerful. No, he just didn’t let himself. Didn’t have the time. The space. The luxury. Always the leader. Always on alert. Comfort was a thing for after.

And then one night, Omega!Soap finds out.

He’s drunk. Half-curled in Ghost’s lap, legs kicked up on Gaz, talking shit with his mouth full of crisps—and Price, sipping tea like the goddamn Victorian war wife he is, just says it as the conversation goes. Casual.

“Haven’t nested since I was a kid.”

Soap goes still. Blinks.

“You,” he says. Slow. Dangerous. Like a drunk man about to start a bar fight with gravity. “You fuckin’ what?”

Price doesn’t even look up. “Did as a kid. Didn’t see the point, after.”

And Soap sits up. Wrenches himself upright with all the force of a wronged man. (Gaz half prepared to catch him.)

“Ye didnae see the point?! Are ye fuckin’ mad?!”

He scrambles off the couch, finger pointed like a damn executioner. “We—we coulda had a nest! A real one! Soft an’ big an’ warm! Wi’ blankets an’ hoodies an’ shirts that smell like us! We coulda shared it! An’ you—”

He points again, accusatory. “You just decided tae go without?! Like comfort's a bloody weakness or somethin’?”

Price raises a brow. “Soap.”

“No. No.”

He turns in a wobbly little circle and points again, now at everyone.

“And you lot! You’ve all just been lettin’ him live like this?! Nik? Ghost? Gaz?!”

Gaz: “I only found out two seconds ago.”

Ghost: “I’d rather die than talk about his nesting habits."

Nik, the ever utterly unbothered Alpha, shrugs off his jacket and hands it to Soap without a word.

Soap clutches it. Breathes in deep. Nods.

“Good,” he says. “That’s a start.”

And then he storms off toward Price’s room, tripping slightly over his own feet and yelling, “Yer room’s a fuckin’ void, John! Hollow! I’m fixin’ it an’ yer gonna help me! Bring me yer hoodies! Yer old shirts! That daft jumper ye wore in Sarajevo! All of it!”

Price: “You don’t have to—”

“Nope! Won’t hear it!”

He’s already at the door. “You sit on th’ floor, you sit on th' mattress an’ drink tea in a cold barren box like a sad wee soldier ghost! Well guess what? Not on my fuckin’ watch, sir. You’re nesting tonight, whether ye like it or not!”

Price blinks. Ghost is smirking behind his hand. Nik’s already unzipping a second layer. Kyle stands up and stretches like, “Welp, better get the laundry.”

And when Price finally walks into his room ten minutes later...

Soap’s there. Sitting in the middle of a pile of hoodies, jackets, jumpers, and soft things stolen from every member of the team. He’s building it with frantic precision. Muttering under his breath. “Too cold on this side. Needs another jumper. Where’s that shirt—oh there ye are, sweetheart.”

And there’s already a space in the middle.

Left open. Waiting.

Price stares at it for a long moment. Then shrugs off his hoodie. Adds it to the pile.

Just to help.

That’s all.

(And then Soap looks up at him, flushed and stubborn and very clearly drunk, and says, “In ye get, then,” and Price sighs but yeah. He gets in.)

#using Sarajevo because i like pulling locations from the old games like little easter eggs #yes price eventually melllttts in the nest especially when Nik joins him and its just him and nik #cod #captain john price #poly 141 #nikprice #call of duty #tf 141 #i uh idk what to tag this as but for organizational purposes:#141 omegaverse #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #omega!price #help me what am i doing #n e way enjoy???#i just like the chaos that can come with the dynamics #my writing

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thevalleyoftriumph · 9 months ago

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love this guy. the corndog ☝

absolutely HILARIOUS to me how they just dont gaf. not a single care in the world.

[also i got curious over the name of their actual color, since ive seen the name maroon thrown around, but that didnt seem too accurate to me... turns out, their color is sienna! so thats what ill be calling them, personally :3]

#maroon is still a great name though dont take this as me insulting it HEHE #ill still use it for tagging purposes too since its so common #cdg ava #corndog guy ava #still cannot BELIEVE they dont have an actual name so i HAVE. to call them Corndog Guy. you guys cmon we can do better than that #maroon ava #sienna ava #ava #animator vs animation #alan becker #||#kitkat chitchat #doodles.png

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quadrantadvisor · 2 months ago

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Pairing Off, in which the Waynes meet the Fentons, just not all at once. 2,443 words

Damian feels less than positively about the new girl in his grade.

Danielle Fenton has already garnered a bit of a reputation. Her uniform is clearly second hand, and rumors abound about whether she has joined them at Gotham Academy on a merit scholarship or as “one of Wayne's charity cases.” Neither is true; Father has offered no fiscal support to the Fentons, and yet both she and her older brother attend the Academy, leading Damian to believe they've somehow paid their own way.

Her lower class status and midwestern accent ought to make Fenton a target, but her response to being cornered or talked down to by other students was an unsettling combination of cheerful and aggressive. She is now mostly left to her own devices, despite her notoriety.

Damian has no interest in the girl. While it is true that she excels in both mathematics and social studies, her performance in English and science are unremarkable, and she poses no challenge to his rank at the top of the class. If he finds himself pushing harder in certain classes this semester in order to maintain the edge, it's no one else's business.

Now if only she would leave him alone.

Damian preemptively slams his sketchbook shut, just as a brash, inconsiderate, annoying girl hops up to sit on his desk. “Hey Dami, what're you drawing?”

“It is none of your business,” Damian seethes. “Remove yourself from my personal space before I-” he isn't allowed to threaten classmates with bodily harm, imply that he has brought weapons to school, or use words that are derogatory to women “-do so myself. By force.” He would avoid her altogether if he could, but Fenton is annoyingly (suspiciously) sneaky. He can only ever seem to sense her when she's just about on top of him.

Fenton merely laughs, high, bright, and joyful, and Damian grits his teeth. “Did you draw me yet?” she asks, and doesn't move an inch.

“No, I have not drawn you. I never said I would, and I have no plans to. Stop asking me.”

She shrugs and kicks her feet. “Maybe you'll change your mind. Can I see what you're working on?”

Damian pulls the sketchbook a tad bit closer to himself (a protective reflex that shows his weakness, he should be better than that by now.) “Never, imbecile.”

Fenton sticks her tongue out at him like a child. “Mean,” she says, still smiling. “I wanna see your art. It's so good!”

Damian tilts his nose up at her. “Of course it is, plebeian, I have standards-” he starts, but is cut off by the teacher entering. Fenton slides off his desk and heads to her own seat. Damian stows his sketchbook in his bag and tries not to think of the unfinished work inside, featuring a girl with dark hair, light eyes, and a mischievous grin.

There's this brownstone on the outskirts of Crime Alley, an old townhouse recently converted into commercial space. There's a coffee shop on street level, a tattoo parlor down the stairs, some sorta wine emporium on the second floor, and on the third, a little second hand bookshop

It's outside the border of Jason's territory, but he feels sorta responsible for it, given that he frequents the place.

It's a little out of his way, but the atmosphere is nice, alright? Clean, with soft lighting, but not sterile or corporate like the bigger places downtown. The owners are an older couple who Jason has met a couple of times, and they seem pretty happy with the new location. They're collectors, really, who run the shop to make ends meet.

Mostly, Jason talks to their employee. Jazz.

Jazz works in the afternoons and evenings, after her classes. She goes to Gotham U, double majoring in pre-med and psych, on top of a full time job, because she's almost as insane as a bat. She assures Jason that she does alright, gets a little downtime to study on her shifts.

She always makes time to talk to Jason.

Jazz is an interesting person to talk books with. She cares less about plot and literary themes, and more about diagnosing every character with their own personal malady of the mind. She dissects their thought processes and behaviors, ruthless in her analysis.

She's gonna be a brain surgeon someday, open people up and see what really makes them tick. Jason doesn't doubt it for a second.

So maybe Jason is a little bit in love with her.

It's not a big deal. Obviously it's not going anywhere. It's just nice to have something normal, to talk to someone normal, about normal stuff like books and college and sibling antics.

Jazz's stories about her sibling, Danny, rival Jason's own, and his family is fucking disastrous. Jason isn't actually sure if Dan is older or younger than Jazz is, or, for that matter, what pronouns he should use for them, since Jazz mixes it up pretty regularly. He knows that Jazz absolutely adores them, though, and it's heartwarming, the way she smiles as she talks.

All of that to explain why Red Hood is keeping an eye on a brownstone that technically falls outside of his territory.

There's a girl inside that he needs to keep safe.

“Hey bud, late night?” Dick asks the man lying prone in an alley, a block away from the Iceberg Lounge.

The response is slurred with sleep and muffled by a cheek pressed hard into asphalt. “S'at you, Dick?”

“Sure is. We've got to stop meeting like this,” Dick tells him, and means it.

The guy's name is Dan. No last name offered, which was fair, since Dick hasn't mentioned his.

What was weird was that Dan didn't give Penguin his last name, either, when he signed his employment contract. Just Dan.

Penguin has been trying to expand his influence into Bludhaven, and Dick's been trying to figure out why. Cobblepot is a very Gotham sort of gangster, all wrapped up in the city's ideas of style and respectability; Dick honestly would've thought that Blud was beneath him. He needs to figure out who he's contacting and what they're offering him, and he needs to do it before Penguin can get a foothold on his turf.

Running into Dan was a side effect. Dick didn't mean to keep doing it. It's just that Dan has this weird habit of completely disregarding trivial concerns such as his own health and safety, and doing weird shit like, as a random example, getting tired, laying down, and passing out. In the middle of the street. In Gotham.

The main part of Dan's job seems to be bouncing at the club. It makes sense—if you wanted to hire a guy as muscle, you couldn't do much better than Dan. He's at least 6 and a half feet tall, with a chest wider than Jason's.

But Dick has also seen Dan traveling with Penguin before. Add in the fact that it's almost impossible to dig up info on him, and that tailing him is somehow even harder, and a picture starts to come together. A very vague, very suspicious picture.

It's too bad that Dick sort of likes him, and that he's incredibly hot.

Dan has removed his face from the alley floor, and is in the process of pushing himself up. “Not your business, man,” he retorts. “What are you, a cop?”

Dick can't help a wry chuckle at that. “Not anymore.”

“No shit?” Dan asks, hauling himself to his feet. He towers over Dick like that, but it's hard to be intimidated by a man whose cheek is red and pockmarked by little bits of gravel. Dick is legitimately embarrassed that he finds it charming. He needs to get better taste in men. “Yeah, no, that makes sense,” Dan continues, looking Dick up and down. “No way they could keep your ass on the force.”

“Oh yeah?” Dick asks.

Dan snorts. “I can smell the idealism on you from here.” He starts walking, heading straight past Dick, who falls into step beside him. “You remind me of this kid I know.”

Dick gives an interested hum, hoping that if he doesn't interrupt, Dan will elaborate, but no dice.

“So, where're you taking me this time?” the big man asks, still leading, and Dick stifles a grin at how silly the whole thing is.

“Maybe if I take you out for coffee, you won't faceplant onto any more concrete,” he says, reaching up to brush off some of the little rocks. Dan stutters to a stop as Dick touches his cheek, letting him, then strides off again as soon as he's done.

“Don't care, as long as you're paying.”

Dick stops him with a tug to his arm. “Coffee shop's this way,” he explains, pointing, and Dan doesn't hesitate, pivoting to take the lead once again. Dick rushes to keep up with his not-date, a criminal who he literally picked up off the street and who has no idea where he's going. He can't see his own smile, but he knows from experience that it is both delighted and a little manic. He admits to himself, begrudgingly, that he likes his men with something wrong with them.

The biggest reason that Tim played so much Doomed with Ghost_Boy, a couple of years ago, was that they were the only player he knew who kept hours as weird as his were. There were worse reasons to form a friendship. Ghost_Boy was a great player, and was always funny in chat. They were upbeat when things went well, and they were sarcastic but not bitter when things went poorly. Playing for the game's sake eventually changed to booting up the game to hang out with Ghost_Boy. They talked about how different their lives were, with Ghost_Boy in the midwest and Tim in the crime capital of America, and they talked about the things they had in common, like falling asleep in class. It was Tim's favorite form of stress relief, back then, when being Robin was new and overwhelming.

Then Tim got busy. No, that wasn't true—Tim had always been busy. More like, Tim's life fell to shambles, over and over again, and he stopped making time for stress relief when the very concept seemed out of his reach.

That was over dramatic. Tim fell off the game, and didn't keep in contact with his friend. That's all there was to it.

That was all there was to it, until a few nights ago, when he booted up his old Doomed file for nostalgia's sake and found a message from Ghost_Boy, sent a couple months back, that said he was planning to move to Gotham and, if Tim wanted, he'd be happy to meet up.

Tim immediately replied in the affirmative, and then he freaked out that he'd done that and started cyber stalking the guy. He couldn’t be bothered to pretend to be embarrassed by this behavior. He knew who he was.

Daniel Fenton was, in fact, a real teenager from a real midwestern town (Amity Park, Illinois.) He had moved to Gotham right when his message said he would, and lived with his older sister, Jasmine (who had custody over him,) and his younger sister, Danielle.

And that was where Tim was planning to stop his research, for the sake of his friend's privacy. Once he confirmed that he wasn't being catfished by either a supervillain or a run-of-the-mill creep, he was going to stop looking.

But Danielle Fenton's situation was incredibly weird.

Apparently, she had never lived with Daniel, Jasmine, and their parents before. Instead, after she was born, she'd been adopted by the kids’ godfather, eccentric billionaire Vlad Masters, and he was still her legal guardian. It was only after the Doctors Jack and Madeline died that she moved in with her siblings and started attending Gotham Academy, states away from her adoptive parent.

Vlad Masters was a man of eclectic tastes. The stories about him in the news were always covering some weird investment he had made, like purchasing a cheese castle in Wisconsin, or buying up property in Green Bay just to have a stake in the Packers, or pouring money into experimental forms of alternative energy. He was always refined in his public appearances, but he had the desperate edge of new money wanting to fit in with the old. Tim knew of him, but had never given him much thought before. He'd never made a move into Gotham, after all.

But the whole story was bizarre. Masters had gone to college with the Fentons, the three of them creating their own field of study in “Ectology,” before Masters had been contaminated in a lab accident, bedridden and unable to finish his degree. Jack and Maddie had continued their research, garnering just enough interest in their work to receive the funding needed to keep afloat, until some sort of breakthrough a few years ago added validity to their theories. They were practically celebrities in the niche forums Tim skimmed through. Masters, meanwhile, stopped working directly in the sciences and instead turned to networking, gaining some generous help from the friends he made and playing the stock market like a fiddle, until he was one of the most well known and lucrative investors in the world. He owned a few companies publicly, and managed some others under the table (Tim had to snort at the ridiculous naming of Dalv Co.)

And then the Fentons had kids, and they raised two of them (seemingly quite happily, if the photos on their memorialized facebook accounts meant anything.) And then, for some reason, they named the third one nearly identically to their second child and gave her straight to Vlad. Masters raised the girl in Wisconsin, until suddenly relocating to Amity Park and becoming the town's mayor. There he stayed, until the Fenton's recent passing in a lab accident of their own.

Tim doesn't know what it all adds up to. But there was something going on, with both Vlad Masters and the Fentons, and if there's something nefarious in Masters’ actions or his wealth, it could be entirely possible that Daniel was a plant—a way for him to get an in with the Waynes. Tim has to be cautious, and he has to get to the bottom of this.

That's why Tim is waiting in a coffee shop, pretending to be engrossed in his laptop while keeping an eye on the door, waiting for the appearance of a teen with black hair and blue eyes.

Tim idly thinks that Bruce had better not adopt this one.

#i wanted to write the next section before posting this but it's been sitting in my wips for months at this point so #hopefully I'll get to it and there will be a part 2 with an introductory segment like this for each of the fentons #because i think it does work better with their context also #I have Dan's done and I love it so much #Damian calls Dani 'Fenton' or 'Danielle' but please know that for the purposes of this au she's 'Dani' because it makes the situation funny #speaking of which if anyone didn't get what jason was going on about #Jazz talks about Dan Danny and Dani to him but has never bothered to specify that she has three siblings #Leading Jason to assume that they are all one person who is gender fluid because he's heard Jazz use he/him she/her and they/them #yes this is relevant to the hypothetical future identity shenanigans #this au is such a mess lololololol #oh shit right I should add actual tags and not just commentary #danny phantom #dc #batfam #dpxdc #dp x dc #damian wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #danny fenton #danielle phantom #jazz fenton #dan phantom #oh boy time for ship names #anger management #brain dead #double edged sword #first failures #my writing

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carriesthewind · 8 months ago

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Ok. I am maybe kind of losing my mind just a little bit.

A few days ago, I mentioned in a post that the IA only cares about information being digitized, not about actual digital access. And I mentioned that access includes patrons being able to actually find what they are looking for, and suggested IA did not prioritize that critical aspect of access. But I didn't really go into any more detail.

So someone over on bluesky linked to this write-up of a talk Brewster Kahle gave about using so-called AI. And one of his reported statements made my mouth drop open in shock.

...and then I read further in the article and realized it was incorrectly reporting basic facts around Hachette, so I had to go and listen to the whole speech myself.* (And I want to say, briefly - he raises some legitimate potential uses for LLMs! He's kind of a dick about some of it ("it's up to us to go and keep [Balinese] culture alive"), but some of the things he's talking about actually seem useful.)

*Incidentally, while Kahle doesn't lie about the ALA brief in the speech, he absolutely misleads about the nature and facts of the case and deliberately omit the part of the story where the IA decided to suspend the one-to-one owned-to-loan ratio thing, despite repeatedly emphasizing that one-to-one was what the IA was doing with their lending program.

And oh my god. He really said what the article reports. (This portion starts around 20:10.)

He says that the IA has scanned over 18,000 periodicals. And that they used to have professional librarians manually create descriptions of the periodicals in order to catalog them. (Sidenote: there are existing directories, but he describes their licensing terms as "ridiculous." This is not a field I know much about, but I spoke to one person who agreed, though for different reasons. His reason is that you can only license, not purchase, the directory descriptions. The person I spoke to was instead focused on the prices demanded for the licenses. Regardless, the idea of creating an open, free directory seems both like an incredible amount of work and an amazing resource...if it was accurate.)

But according to Kahle, it took 45 minutes to an hour to create a description and catalog each periodical.

And so now, instead, they're using AI to make the descriptions and so it only takes 7-10 minutes!

"And yes it hallucinates, and it has some problems, and whatever — but it’s a lot faster than having to write it yourself!"

Oh. My god.

Just.

YOU ARE KNOWINGLY INTRODUCING AI HALLUCINATIONS INTO YOUR CATALOG?!

(And yes, he says that they are "confirmed by a librarian" but it can't really be, not if it's only taking 7-10 minutes! Maybe the librarian can do a quick check for super obvious errors, but actually checking a AI's summary work requires actually going back to the source and reviewing it yourself!)

I just....

I need to emphasize for those of you for who aren't familiar - if a book or article is miscataloged, it is effectively lost. Because it doesn't mater if a library or an archive owes it - if someone can't find it when they are looking for it, it is not only inaccessible, the only way to find it again is through chance. Imagine if you went into a library, but instead of organized shelves (where if even if you can't find what you're looking for, the librarians know where to look), every single book was just piled in a heap.

If a book is miscateloged, it still exists, but it is lost, not truly accessible. And they know that this is happening, "but whatever." Because Brewster Kahle doesn't actually care about real, practical, digital access. (Much less non-digital access.)

(And then to top it off, he goes on to criticize the Library of Congress for not being "access oriented.")

I just. 18,000 periodicals. And they've knowing, recklessly lost who knows how many of them. I feel like crying.

18,000 periodicals.

#internet archive #ai bs #nope sure don't like using those two tags in the same post #also just admit that you are an archive kahle #archives are great!#I love archives!#they serve a critical purpose distinct from libraries #I don't understand why you seem to hate the idea of being one!#(except I do - the same reason why you won't just admit what the ia did w/ the 'emergency library')

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